


freedom for the wolves

by becuille



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Aftercare, Asphyxiation, Cannibalism, Dom/sub Undertones, Domestic, Hand Feeding, M/M, Mentions of Death, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Punishment, Sadism, i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-20
Updated: 2018-04-20
Packaged: 2019-04-24 14:33:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14357454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/becuille/pseuds/becuille
Summary: "Oh, you truly are wild. Allow me to teach you some proper manners."Like breaking a pony. And Will wants to be broken. Will wants Hannibal to ride him until his legs give out and he's beaten down and raw.“I’m in your capable hands, Doctor.”





	freedom for the wolves

Will shrugs off his jacket and kicks his boots against the step of the house, then removes them so he doesn’t tread mud. He’s weary down to his bones from a day’s work out in the cold of a European winter, and the warm light from his home beckons him in. 

Hannibal is laying the table when he gets in. Dinner is cooking in the oven, the fire is crackling invitingly, but this isn’t exactly the domestic life he expected a couple years back. He doesn’t ask what’s for dinner.

“Need a hand?” he offers, hanging up his coat. 

“It’s quite alright.”

It’s probably for the best. He has motor oil in his nails and everything is white and pristine. 

“When it’s just us two, I wonder how you still keep this up,” Will says, nodding at the stacks of plates and polished cutlery, feeling a spark of antagonism. Surely by now they’re past courtship and social niceties. He ducks into the kitchen to wash himself up. 

"The decoration and arrangement add to the visual experience of the meal."

"So no chance of an occasional TV dinner then?" Will calls over to him dryly. As he re-enters Hannibal raises an eyebrow at him. It’s as if he can see the hundreds of meals Will has had on his couch, his dogs on his knee begging for scraps, watching some mind numbing documentary or other.

When it was just him and his dad they never once did anything like this, not even on Thanksgiving. They had ugly yellow dishes with chickens and a chip in each one, and his dad’s version of a home cooked meal was instant potatoes and tinned veg. If only Hannibal knew. 

"You would be the finest addition to my dining table, Will." Hannibal says, a lilt to his voice like he is amusing himself. 

"What if you fucked me on it then?" Will pushes. Hannibal has no interest in low hanging fruit, but if he tried for subtlety they could be here all night. Will is tired and Hannibal’s persistent stoicism has made him lose patience. 

So he indulges him. He must have caught him in a good mood. He takes Will by the arm, though he hardly needs leading at all, to the empty half of the table and spins him around. He presses Will’s face into the varnished wood. It definitely one of a kind, he notices up close, and lacquered to a dazzling sheen.

Will almost wants to laugh, what he's reduced Hannibal to. One half of the table is the very picture of civilisation. White roses at the table from Hannibal’s well-tended garden out back, fine china, fish forks and napkins, the lot. The other half of it Will has shucked down his pants just enough and spread himself, legs askew. His ass is greedily in the air, taking Hannibal's cock while their food awaits in the kitchen.

Hannibal pulls his torso up to line with his own, as if they are one being. Four legs, four arms, joined by where Hannibal penetrates him. He slides so slow, almost sweet, if he didn’t know better, in and out of him. Not deep enough, not fast enough, not how he needs it. 

Will is impatient. He makes a blind grab and sends a wine glass spinning to the floor. They mustn't have been his finest crystal, as Hannibal's hips hardly stutter. A few plates and knives later and he's barely earned a warning hand to the back of the neck, like an unruly animal. 

Infuriated at Hannibal's pace, and his indifference to the tablewear he was lecturing Will on the importance of only moments before, sends Will grabbing the table cloth, and bringing the whole lot crashing down all at once. 

Wasted flesh is forgotten in the oven and the bones of long dead animals lie in ruined splinters of china on the floor. 

Hannibal stops fucking him and pulls out all the way. 

"Oh, you truly are wild. Allow me to teach you some proper manners."

Like breaking a pony. And Will wants to be broken. Will wants Hannibal to ride him until his legs give out and he’s beaten down and raw. 

“I’m in your capable hands, Doctor.”

But he doesn't, not in the way Will wants, anyway. 

He delights as Hannibal undresses him, rough and impersonal, letting his pants and shirt fall to the floor, but it’s short-lived. He hears him zip himself back up and wants to groan, his stomach twisting in anxious knots. Hannibal slips his tie off from around his neck and twists Will’s face up to look at him. He doesn't look furious, but his eyes make Will tremble. He knows that Hannibal is going to have his way with him, and he will be taught his lesson, kicking and screaming if need be. 

Hannibal roughly folds the tie and forces it into Will’s mouth, then shoves his head hard onto the table, face first. He twists both of Will’s arms behind him and holds him firm where he is with only one of his hands. Hannibal digs his fingers into the right junctions of his muscles to make him spasm and try to fight back, a physiological reaction. 

His fingers tighten like rope around Will’s neck. He expertly digs into his carotids and his hammering pulse, and crushes his larynx enough to cause panicking tightness. As his vision goes dark, Will wonders, like he always does, if this is how Hannibal would kill him, until reason wins over. He would never end his life so impersonally, not even watching as his life drains from his eyes. 

He splutters as Hannibal lets go, but he’s only given a second until Hannibal uses one hand to grip the base of his cock and the other again on his neck, this time with the intention to bruise. To make his voice hoarse and throat ache. To make him reflect on his actions for days each time he speaks.

Will can start to smell the unmistakable carbon of burning meat and at least gets to delight in Hannibal’s ruined meal. But of course Hannibal knew this was his goal, to anger him further. 

He feels Hannibal’s breath near his neck, then his teeth grazing his shoulder, when he bites down, hard. He doesn't break skin, purposely avoiding using his canines. Instead he opts for muscular damage, applying pressure with his incisors. The pain rushes through him and he tries to shout, and then Hannibal releases him again, soothing his damaged flesh with a single kiss. 

“Breathe,” Hannibal says. Will breathes. Hannibal cares not if he wishes to breathe, he commands him to so he does, stuttering and shallow, like a fish out of water. 

“ _Come on_ ,” Will says, trying to goad him in his moment of respite, but his speech is unintelligible and muffled. Hannibal’s grip on his throat tightens again. 

And that’s it. Will stops resisting, his limbs go slack on the table. Just as his vision blurs, Hannibal releases his grip on his neck and his straining cock and jerks him once, twice. Then Will is groaning low and loud around his makeshift gag and coming all over himself and Hannibal’s hand and the dark wood table. 

“Are you going to behave now?” 

Hannibal takes out the spit soaked silk tie and Will pants heavy and coughs, unable to speak yet he gasps to get his breath back. He coaxes Will to roll over onto his back and all he can do is lie there, disheveled while Hannibal is unphased. He’s still clothed, not even his top button undone. He finally kisses him, apparently satisfied, and Will kisses back, but a few seconds delayed like an out of sync tape, so his mouth is left gasping for him as he pulls away. Hannibal kisses down his neck, down his arm to the crease in his elbow, licking at the thin skin like he could lap at his veins.

Now he makes Will feel like a prized centrepiece, splayed out and bare for Hannibal to admire. Will imagines being left like this while Hannibal ushers in dinner guests, esteemed academics and Hannibal’s peers complimenting him for his handiwork. 

Hannibal licks away the come on Will’s stomach and his thigh, and Will jerks. He weakly tries to fight him off as he takes his flaccid cock into his mouth, cleaning him more than necessary. 

He stands and Will watches him, glazed over. 

“Just one moment,” he reassures him with hand through his sweat soaked hair, before he disappears.

Pans clang in the kitchen and the oven door opens and closes. Smoke curls into the dining room; dinner is unsalvageable. Will smiles at his small victory and props himself up on his elbows. 

“Are we getting take out then?” 

Hannibal returns and his mouth crinkles at the edges at his petulance.

“I’m sure we’ll find something. Come, I might even let you eat in bed, for taking your lesson so well. I anticipated more resistance today, Will.” Hannibal helps him stand by the small of his back and guides him to the bedroom. 

A few minutes later, platter of cured meats and fruits in hand, Hannibal comes to join him. Like a trained lap dog, Will accepts pieces of apple and cheese from Hannibal’s hand. He pauses just before feeding him a grape to make Will lean up for it, mouth open, denying him for a moment. 

“I’ve invited an old friend round for dinner tomorrow,” Hannibal approaches, studying Will carefully. Will tries to swallow his meat but it gets stuck in his teeth. “Dr. Du Maurier.” 

Hannibal offers him up another slice and Will takes it.

“I’ll look forward to it.”

**Author's Note:**

> this was gross sorry. my new resolution was to finish all the fics i started (i started this at least a year ago) so here we are
> 
> follow me on [tumblr](http://tailtiu.tumblr.com/)


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